“You won’t lose anything,” Poppy muttered, eyes downcast as she tried again to explain where the bracelet had gone. “Did I lose it? Pawn it? What on earth is happening?”
The room fell into a heavy hush. Victor Harper sank onto the sofa, eyebrows arched, the absurdity of the scene pressing on him like a strange fog.
“She took it?” he asked, his voice thin as a whisper in a dream. “What does that even mean?”
“She first asked me to try it on,” Poppy said, her voice trembling like a candle in the wind. “Then she said it suited her, and I felt awkward taking it back. She’s my mother, after all”
Victor stared at his wife as if she were a new apparition, the softspoken woman he thought he knew now transformed into something unfamiliar. He had always known Poppy as gentlehearted, but never to this depth.
“So she just walked away with your bracelet?” Victor pressed, irony lacing his tone. “Come on, tell me the whole story, step by step.”
It was almost comical. Victor had always wanted his wife to never need anything, to live in a quiet meadow of selfsufficiency. Now, for once, he could finally afford to be selfish, while Poppy could not.
Once, things had been different. They’d met in their first year at university through a tangled web of mutual friends. He was naïve, a dreamer, born to a modest family in a cramped council flat, promising himself that his future wife and children would always have the best. He didn’t yet know how to keep that promise, but his enthusiasm was boundless.
Poppy had no grand ambitions, only a generous heart. Victor realized he was in love the night she appeared at his doorstep, shivering with a thermos of hot soup.
“Simon told me you were ill,” she whispered, slipping off her shoes. “I thought Id drop by.”
“Dont bother,” Victor protested, but didnt shut her out.
“Well both catch a cold, then we can binge on tea and biscuits together,” she said, smiling. “Im not a candy that melts.”
In Poppy, Victor saw the woman who could guard his back, who gave without calculation, simply because she liked him and liked the idea of caring.
Soon they were sharing a tiny rented flat in East London, a kitchen that squeaked, a fridge that hummed like a distant engine, a leaky tap that dripped a steady rhythm, and the occasional dash of cockroaches across the linoleum. They survived sleepless nights before exams, took on odd jobs togetherVictor lugging boxes in a warehouse, Poppy serving tables in a cafe.
They trudged through everything. They learned that instant noodles were still a luxury. Poppy panicked when Victor landed in hospital with gallstones, his pockets empty of even the cheapest prescription. They borrowed money from parents, from friends, from anyone with a spare pound.
Fortunately Victor had a crowd of mates who tossed him oneoff jobs: a helper on a construction site, a fencepainting gig for a pittance. He took almost any task; Poppy, however, tried not to add to his burden.
“I want to help!” she declared when he prepared for another shift.
“Sure, and what will you do? Haul coal? You’ll tear yourself apart. Our medical bills will outstrip your effort,” Victor grumbled, but he recognised the sincerity in her eyes.
He never left her, even when the familys finances swelled with unexpected costs.
Step by step, he chased his goal. First, they earned their degrees. Victor drifted through jobs until a friend slipped him into a junior role at a large logistics firm. The schedule was brutallate nights, weekend raids.
Poppy kept the home afloat, cooking his favourite stews, tidying alone, caring for their old Labrador even after the dog limped.
“Itll pass,” she said during the darkest weeks.
When Victor rose to head of the logistics department, responsibilities multiplied, but the love waiting at home felt like a warm hearth.
Their lives entered a new chapter. They bought a modest house in Surrey, a secondhand car, a small garden plot. They shopped for furniture in highstreet stores rather than on Gumtree, replaced clothes not because they were worn but because they fancied something new, took holidays abroad instead of staying at a aunts cottage.
Victors gifts evolved from chocolate bars to cashmere coats, leather bags, gold jewelleryno special occasion required, just a Friday night or a bright mood. Poppy blushed at price tags, but he delighted in pulling her out of the tightrope of pennypinching.
At first, everything glittered. She hugged him tightly, thanked him, wore a new perfume, slipped into designer outfits, cooked in a multicooker with more buttons than a spaceship.
Then the dream shifted. Poppy dusted off an old kettle, carried a cracked handbag, hid her perfume somewhere obscure. Victor first thought she simply disliked the scent, then blamed old habits. Yet something didnt fitwhy wear shoes that blister when brandnew ones sat in the cupboard?
Victor decided to test her, and a convenient opportunity appeared. When his colleague Simon invited them to his birthday, Victor bought Poppy a gold bracelet and sapphire earrings. He wanted the world to see the woman he adored.
“Wear the dress we bought on Friday, and the jewellery I gave you last week,” Victor urged. “They match perfectly.”
Poppy hesitated, then whispered that the bracelet had broken, that shed given it to a jeweller, but couldnt recall where. She finally confessed that her mother had taken the goldand not just the gold.
“So everything I bought you ended up in your mums hands?” Victors lips tightened. “Are you serious? Cant you argue?”
She turned away.
“I dont know how. I tried. She gets upset, says she raised me, that I owe her everything, that no one will ever give me gifts again, that youre still buying for me, that I wont lose anything.”
Victor covered his face with his hands, feeling as though hed been robbednot of jewellery, but of respect.
“Alright then,” he sighed. “From now on Ill only give you things that wont vanish into your mums collection within a week.”
She fell silent, unable to respond. Poppy was too easily swayed by manipulation. Victor tried to shake her awake, but it was futile; he simply accepted her as she was.
He realised that to keep the warmth in the house he needed to confront the leak, not Poppy. The leak wore the name Vera Thompson.
Vera was loud, brazen, clingy. Victor had met her shortly after hed started dating Poppy.
“I dont mean to intrude, but” shed begin, then launch into unsolicited advice.
Vera worked as an accountant; her husband drifted wherever work paid the least. Their salaries matched their modest lifestyle.
From day one, the motherinlaw tried to insert herself into their affairs, arriving unannounced at eight in the morning. Once, during a romantic evening, Victor simply refused her entry. Poppy winced, whispered Mum, but Victor stood firm.
“Yes, Mum,” he nodded, “but we didnt expect you. Lets arrange visits in advance.”
Vera no longer barged through doors but slipped in through guilt, nurturing it in Poppys heart.
“Oh, what lovely perfume you have! No one ever gives me that. May I borrow it for a week? Lucys birthday is near; I want to spritz myself and be the envy of everyone. You dont mind, do you, dear? Ive given you everything.”
How to fight that? How to make theft impossible? Poppys birthday approached, and Victor plotted a new strategy.
At the dinner table, he rose, handoffering a small envelope to his wife.
“Sunshine, this is for you. I know youve always dreamed of Italy. Take a proper break.”
Veras eyes brightened.
“Oh! How lovely. Ive always wanted to sunbathe on the Mediterranean, gaze at the Italians, see their statues!”
“Wanting isnt a crime,” Victor replied, “but note, Vera, the second ticket is mine. Youll travel with me, and Im not the most pleasant companion. I snore loudly, blast music at night, walk around the room in my socks. Are you ready?”
Laughter rippled around the table. Poppy lowered her gaze, smiling shyly. Vera flushed, pursed her lips, and turned away. She kept quiet the rest of the evening and left before anyone else. Victor smirked; hed received two gifts that night: his wifes hesitant smile and his motherinlaws silence.
